Far Too Old To Die
by Prince-Frost
Summary: Everyone's heard the story of Peter Pan and Captain Hook, of their neverending battle—or is it a game? Pan may be a predator, but Hook refuses to be the prey.


Killian Jones has never been an overly ambitious fellow, but even he expected more from his future than to be sitting on the cold muddy ground, back against a tree, and drinking away his sorrows alone.

Well, maybe that was a bit of a lie. His life of piracy always ensured that alcohol was nearby but the alone part…_that_ was a surprise. Especially since he was so certain, even more so after that passionate kiss, that he and Emma…

But that was before Baelfire was back with them. Before Peter Pan had crushed his hope with three little words: _Baelfire is alive_. Before Hook had then helped save the very person who would certainly ruin his chance with the woman he loved.

Yes, he was never all that ambitious but he didn't realise he was so _noble_. Or perhaps the word was stupid? Hanging around a group of do-gooders was bound to rub off on him sooner or later, but a little _warning _would have been nice.

It was only when he watched those two together, the way Emma eyes lit up when Baelfire spoke to her, that he actually realised this was a battle he could never win. Once he accepted that, the situation became easier to grasp. Although the pitying eyes of Prince Charming (out of all people, he had Emma's own father feeling sorry for him) could eventually drive him insane.

Hook doubted it would take long for them to realise his distance from the group, or the increased amount of walks he now takes often by himself to 'scout' the area ahead. Emma had probably realised it already—she always was a smart, observant little thing.

Still, it doesn't stop Hook from taking solace in the forest again. He scoffs out loud at that, before downing another gulp of his beverage. No matter how drunk he gets he's not foolish enough to believe he's ever alone on this godforsaken island. _His_ island.

That trail of thought leads to a sick, intrusive feeling that leaves goose bumps on his skin, so he stomps down on his thoughts immediately.

_I've survived Neverland before_, he tells himself, _and I'll do it again_.

_But you were also able to leave Neverland before_, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Pan's whispers back, _do you really think you'll be able to escape again?_

Typical. Not even his own mind was safe from the immortal boy that haunts the equally cursed island. He absently wonders if all of this this is penance for Milah dying for him, _because_ of him, or betraying Baelfire all those centuries ago.

He shakes his head. It's easier to blame someone else altogether, and it would be much more beneficial to use that anger on the cause of the untold suffering that occurs on this island. A person who was undoubtedly nearby and plotting calamity at this very moment.

"Bloody Peter Pan," he curses to the night sky with contempt, hoping it will be bring him some satisfaction.

It brings him something else entirely.

"That's not very nice. What did I ever do to you?"

He's proud to say he barely jumps when Pan announces his presence, but a brief slip of his fingers on the almost empty bottle he holds is all Pan needs to see to know he's got a reaction. As expected, Peter's gaze closes in on the action, although gratefully he doesn't comment on it.

"Would you like me to write you a list?" Hook bitterly asks, barely glancing at the boy that was now leaning against the tree opposite him, arms crossed and a sure confident smirk in place.

Perhaps he can bore Peter Pan to death by ignoring him? Children don't have much interest in a broken toy, nor an instrument that does not play on command. He hears footsteps that only stop when he can see Peter's boots and dismisses that idea entirely. You cannot ignore the devil.

"It's only a bit of fun," Pan jests, "something you seem to be lacking in."

"If this is your idea of fun then you need to get another hobby, mate," he remarks, hiding behind the sarcastic front he has so masterfully skilled throughout the years.

After all, there's only so much you can do against a demon that knows everything about you; your desires, fears…coupled with the power to give or take them away…

Yes, sarcasm seemed to be the best option of defence.

"And you, _laddie_," Pan mocks his speech with childish glee, "need to get better friends."

"Oh?" Hook questions, playing disinterested, but old habits end up keeping both his eyes fixed on Peter Pan, who smiles slow and sharp, soaking up the attention.

"I'm sure I don't need to spell it out for you."

Hook shakes his whisky at the teen. "I'm afraid you will. I'm rather incapacitated at the moment."

Between one blink and the next, Pan is kneeling next to him, reaching towards him too fast for Killian to stop—or even_ react_ to—and he feels a brief feather touch on his forehead before Pan is leaning back on his heels watching him expectantly.

In seconds the blissful haze from the alcohol is gone, replaced with the harsh clarity of reality again, and he realises what the boy has done. A flash of rage fills his now clear senses and Hook easily grabs Pan's collar due to their close proximity.

"Was that absolutely necessary?" Hook says, attempting to keep his words calm even as the strong grip he has on Peter gives him away.

"Why so angry, Captain? I wouldn't personally know, but I've heard the effects of alcohol are less than pleasant." Peter laughs when Hook narrows his eyes. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

He considers getting up and simply walking away or giving into his anger and using his sword to run Pan through, but logically he knows neither will work. It's impossible to run from or kill a God: you can only hope to appease it in exchange for your continued existence.

Hook sighs, a small tired sound that only Pan would hear, and starts to let him go. "What do you want?"

To his surprise Peter stops him from releasing his grip by placing his hand over his own, nails digging into flesh. "I want many things, Killian. You'll have to be more specific."

He growls in frustration, already growing impatient of Pan's games and goes to pull his hand away again—to create some well needed distance between them. His effort is futile though, Pan refuses to let go and the strength he carries in his deceivingly lanky body isn't human. He ends up dragging the teen up with him, who thankfully willingly goes along. It's a slight comfort but he'd prefer to be standing next to Pan, not sitting. He hopes that small vulnerability he felt hadn't shown but the mischief dancing in Peter's eyes tells him he shouldn't count on it.

"Alright then," Hook eventually speaks, lips curling in spite, "what could you possibly want from me at this exact moment in time?"

Peter lets out an amused breath at his brazenness. "The same thing I wanted before. Your compliance. I wanted you to work for me again, remember?"

Hook nods slowly, unsure what this was leading to. Surely Pan gave him more credit for his resilience to an offer he had heard only days (or was it hours? It was meaningless to keep track of time in a place that it no longer existed) before. "Aye, and I've already told you I have no interest in the old days."

Pan leans up, the short height distance between them nearly none existent. "But can you say your interest in the present is any better?"

Hook falters, because _it_ was the present that drove him to a drunken stupor, and that brief second is all Pan needs to exploit the weakness he's found. The playful boyish features disappear, and the malicious, darker side to the teenager starts to emerge as he begins to feast on Hook's insecurities.

"Do you really believe those people back there actually care for you? That they wouldn't just leave you to die?" His voice is barely a whisper. "The only thing you can count on is that Prince feeling indebted to you for saving his life. But let's face it, if it really came down to it, none of them would choose your life, _a pirate_, over their loved ones."

"Emma—"

The mention of the saviour makes Peter's eyes glimmer with—distaste? Hatred? Killian can't be sure as he never gets the opportunity to decipher the glimpse of emotion before it's concealed away.

"Her loyalties lie elsewhere. They always have."

Killian can't deny it. Emma Swan, the virtuous, stubborn and stunning she-wolf. She would never leave her son or the love of her life…and he'd never ask her to. If there was one characteristic of his he'd always been proud of, it was that, even with all of his dirty flaws, he had honour.

That would do little to assist him now though, as victory starts to show on Pan's face when he remains speechless.

"Leave these so called friends of yours. Forget about this meaningless quest to save a woman's son, a woman who has only half feelings for you. Forget them all." Peter's other hand snakes up his arm, the contact so light he might even be imagining it. "Come back to Neverland. Come back to _me_."

He clenches his teeth and looks away from that gaze, from the deceptive sincerity shown in those dark green orbs. He catches the twitch of Pan's lip in the corner of his eye and has to hold back from making a mad grin of his own. The sadistic brat truly thought he had won with a few sweet words.

Now grateful for the absence of his drunken intoxication, he swiftly brings his hook up and slashes it where Peter Pan's throat is. All things considered it would be a clean, merciful death for someone as corrupt as him, someone who sees misery and pain as nothing more than a game. Of course, all Killian ends up hitting is air and he almost falls face first now the presence that had practically been holding him steady had vanished. It lets him take a breath of much needed clear air though; air that doesn't smell like the fresh leaves that is Pan's scent.

"The great Peter Pan isn't afraid of death is he?" Hook calls out, knowing better than to believe Pan was done with him. He ignores the frustration he feels when his company reappears directly behind him, of all places. He learnt long ago how childish the teen actually was.

"To die would be an awfully big adventure," Pan muses, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful until the poisonous grin is back on his lips. "Almost a shame it's one I'll never experience."

"Don't be so sure," he snarls at the creature, years of hate burning to the surface. Killian's seen an immeasurable amount of lives wasted, many his own crew, and he can say with absolute conviction that the gift of life is wasted on Peter Pan.

As always his death threats do little to faze Peter—little more than a source of fleeting entertainment for him—but this time his smile turns rigid, impatience flickering beneath the impish exterior.

"You can't keep resisting me forever, Killian," he says simply, spreading his arms. "And as we both know, forever is all we have here."

Pan begins to circle round him, and in turn so does Hook, unwilling to let the teen get any kind of advantage. Pan may be a predator, but Hook refuses to be the prey. If the boy actually had the need for a weapon, if would appear to an onlooker that they were about to duel.

"Forever, eh? I should have plenty of chances to kill you then," Hook retorts and puts a hand on the sword he carries, to show good on his threat.

The action greatly amuses Peter, who practically radiates with cockiness as he mock bows. "You're welcome to try, Captain." He straightens up painfully slow, dark eyes locked onto his own. "But that's all they'll ever be: chances!"

Hook raises an eyebrow at his antics. "Are we finished here?"

Killian doesn't wait for an answer, swivelling around and walking away from him. It's not the right way back to the camp, but he's a pirate with a great sense of direction and the vast seas are more of a challenge than this forest could ever hope to be. Pan's intention isn't to have him blindly wandering through the forest, lost. Not yet, anyway.

"They're going to leave you, Killian. I'll make sure of it. Even your precious Swan."

A glance back confirms Pan's gaze still hasn't left him, but the ill will and trickery Pan wore like a cloak is exchanged with a cold certainty, which is equally as deadly. He can handle any amount of tricks that Pan has up his sleeve, but his future being stated in ruthless facts makes Hook feel nauseatingly uneasy.

He keeps his pace, but the urge to defend Emma has him responding one last time.

"You know nothing about her," he snaps back. _Or me_, he wishes to add, but even the most skilled liar couldn't get away with that one. "But I'll let you in on a secret; if anyone's going to put you out of your misery it'll be her."

The temperature swiftly grows chilly, bordering on cold, with a strong breeze suddenly picking up and Hook knows that he's managed to fracture a small chip in Pan's impenetrable armour. He should be afraid; this boy is a greater peril than any monster found out there, yet he only feels satisfaction. He almost dares to glimpse at what expression Peter is wearing now, however he fears he wouldn't make it back to tell the tale.

It's not until Hook is half way back to camp that Pan makes his move, the finishing act of their game.

"Don't say I didn't warn you!" Peter's voice still manages to follow him even here, taunting, and the memory of the same boy on a beach, those very same words, and the helplessness he felt when his brother choked to death leaves Hook stumbling out the clearing with Pan's laughter echoing around him.

He lost.


End file.
